


Slow and Whistling Soft

by elistaire



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Original Fiction, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elistaire/pseuds/elistaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Threnody has escaped, and the victory is bitterwsweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow and Whistling Soft

**Author's Note:**

> Original, with HL inspiration. Inspired by a piece of Jubie artwork.

He had to keep going.

But where, he no longer knew.

Thren struggled to pull himself upright, but his muscles refused to answer his demands, and he slid back to the ground, exhausted and tired, and lost. He was too vulnerable, but there was nothing he could do for it. Except…except fold away his status. Which he did. Like a light breeze, the outmost tips of his status obeyed and slid away, snug against his back, hidden, quiescent. The sun was warm on his back now, and Thren was exhausted, so he closed his eyes and rested. He did not sleep, his kind never did, although he often wondered what a dream would feel like. Perhaps it was just like this? Too tired to go on, and one could only wait until strength returned, and in the meantime, thoughts flitted like moths toward the night-stars, ephemeral and persistent?

He wasn't sure when he realized a Man was there, but much time must have passed for the shadows were grown long and the sunlight was gone from his skin, leaving him damp and cool. Would the Man leave him alone if he were to lie very quiet and still? Perhaps take no notice?

But he was not so fortunate, for the Man saw him right away, and came close. The Man reached out fingers and touched lightly at Thren's shoulder. "Are you awake?" he asked softly.

Thren turned his head to look at the Man. "Yes," he said, his voice more escaping air than sound, and Thren knew he would never sing again.

The Man's expression changed to one that Thren could not decipher. It was not hate or disgust or…he stopped trying to understand it; it was just beyond him. So many things were beyond him now.

"If you would like, I've room on my farm," the Man said. "You are welcome to stay until you decide what path you will take."

Thren blinked. Such an odd offer! Almost as if…. He rolled over into a sitting position, pleased to note that his muscles were recovered and responding. The Man was an ordinary man. His face was lined with the passing of years, his hair silvered over what used to be black, but his eyes were kindly and open. Thren opened his mouth to speak, to ask….

"Yes," the Man said, anticipating the questions, "I know what you are, where you've escaped from." He paused. "You have escaped?"

Thren nodded, certain. Oh, yes. Finally free, and he had never done anything so terrible in all his existence.

Satisfied, the Man kept on. "You are not the first, you know. I thought I'd heard you arrive, and I came looking. My farm really is very close. And you really are welcome to stay with me."

Not the first? Thren reached out to clasp the Man's wrist.

The Man smiled and disengaged his hand. "Later, when you're stronger. Right now, just concentrate on coming with me, you shouldn't remain here."

Thren followed him, gauging his strength--which was not much--and grateful that there would be someplace to stay, someone who might answer questions.

The farm was small, and very simple. A few animals were present, their wide eyes turning to follow as Thren entered, and the Man showed Thren where he might lie down and recuperate. "Later," the Man said, "when you've rested more, I can show you how things work."

Thren smiled at him, content, and tired again. He reposed where the Man had shown him, on a low pallet in a secondary space within the building. The window was open next to him, and the cool air from outside flowed over him, reminding him that he'd tucked his status away. It was pleasant, and Thren was still for a long while, listening to the sounds of the breeze, the animals, and the Man working in the yard.

Eventually the Man came back to him. It was dark now, and the day was gone. Thren left the pallet and joined the Man in the larger room, where he was cooking something.

"Can you eat?" the Man asked. He offered a spoon full of the material.

Thren took the spoon, sniffing at the sand-colored mass, and then handed it back. He could not eat it.

The Man shrugged. "It'll come to you. Sometimes it takes a few days."

Thren nodded and sat to watch the Man finish preparing his meal and to eat.

Perhaps he would have learnt to eat after all, but for that the next morning while the dew was still clinging to the tips of the grass blades, he had felt the echoes of his own songs, and looking to the sky he had seen another. Dipping against the thermals, joyous in every move, as if just existing were enough reason for exultation, the other had been in the sky. His status had been of cotton white, creased with sky blue, the colors of the heavens during the day when the sun blessed the world with light and warmth--so unlike Thren's own dirge colored status; Thren had been riveted. The other came no closer, but it was enough to watch him from afar, until finally his sight failed the distance.

After that, he was utterly lost. The Man watched him decline with some sadness to his face, caring for him gently and unreservedly, although little care was truly needed. Thren just waited, resting in the cool grass of the shadow of the house, and watching the skies.

He knew not sleep, and at night when he could see nothing but the ink and sparkle of the sky, he curled up on his pallet, and tried to imagine he was dreaming.

Once, when the Man brought water to him (which he could not drink, no matter how the Man might wish he would try), he had reached out to grasp the Man's wrist, trying to thank him. The Man had smiled and brushed a fingertip along the edge of his status. "It is no more than you would have done for me," he said, his voice as soft as a dropped down-feather.

Thren had closed his eyes, and when he'd opened them again, the Man had gone elsewhere.

He'd lost track of time, although it could not have been long, when he realized that it would be his last day. He would fade by nightfall, which was fine, he was grateful to have one last period of daylight, and that his last sights would be of the open skies. Thren did not regret his decision, though he thought the Man was weeping inside the building. It was better to cease than to continue as he had, and the memory of his escape brought him a shiver of triumph.

When finally the sun was setting and the true-blue sky had turned shades of purple-red and indigo-violet, Thren closed his eyes, ready to rest. It was then that he felt it, a whisper of movement. Compassion surrounded him with a feathered touch, and a soft whiteness filled his vision.

"Rest now, my most dear and beloved Threnody. I will sing for you. Rest and dream."

And Threnody did.


End file.
